For The Weak
by TruthIsAMatterOfCircumstance
Summary: Three times Nyx stopped himself from crying and one time he didn't have to.
1. Chapter 1

The first time someone asks him about his family, he has to take a deep, forced exhale to stop himself from lashing out. It's instict, the defensive, 'leave-me-the-hell-alone' reaction that the few, simple words prompt.

It had been a peaceful, harmless conversation up until that point, Sonitus quite happily filling them all in on his rather large and rather chaotic family, comprised mostly of sisters. Nyx had been quietly distancing himself from the conversation, focusing on channeling the energy he could feel vibrantly buzzing through his veins instead. It was an odd sensation, this magic, and one he had not yet become accustomed too. It felt like a neverending adrenaline rush, or that one time he had drunk six coffees in the space of two hours on a dare, and it was a high he had not yet become accustomed to.

The question had been frame innocently enough, thrown his way without any malice to be seen, Sonitus having to repeat himself twice before Nyx broke out of the fuzzy haze he had buried himself in and refocused on the conversation at hand.

"What about you, Nyx? What's your family like?"

He had a feeling that if Libertus, or even Crowe, had been in the room, the question would have been aborted after the first time, and he would have been left to his peaceful bubble of solitude and peace. As it was, he found himself caught like a deer in the headlights, the carefully balanced cap resting over his grief rolling to the side with little effort at all.

He could feel the pinprick of a tickle at the edges of his eyes, an uncomfortable lump rising in his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow down, no matter how hard he tried. An unsure look was spreading across Sonitus' face, something beginning to tell him that maybe he had asked the wrong man the wrong question.

Nyx blinked rapidly, forcing himself to smile even as his mind screamed at him to leave the room as soon as possible. He had a feeling it was more of a grimace than a smile, if the look on Sonitus' face was anything to go by, but he didn't have the strength to put up a better show.

"My family is dead."

He answered, finally managing to find his voice around the rock settled in his chest. Silence was his answer, the only sound the scraping of wood on concrete as he slid his chair back and stood swiftly. A steady pounding was beginning to build behind his eyes, the build-up of pressure making him feel slightly light-headed as he turned away from the table and slowly strode from the room, forcing himself to take steady, calm steps.

Only once he was out of the common room and far down the hall did he allow his mask to crack, a shuddering breath leaving him as he leaned against the wall with both hands, head hanging in front of his chest. It felt like someone was crushing him, piling weight, after weight upon his chest, Every breath he drew in fluttered back out as a choked sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob.

But he wouldn't allow himself to cry, not now. He had sworn that he would _not_ cry. He had to be stronger than that now, he had to be so much stronger, he had to stop anyone else from getting hurt.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice tried to reason with him that he couldn't possibly save everyone. There was no way one man could win an entire war, alone, without casualties. But he pushed that voice aside, he didn't need it right then, if he listened to it, he just might let himself crack, and once that crack opened up, there was no telling how far it would fracture and spread.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, he forced himself to calm down, dropping a hand from the wall to brush angrily at his eyes, flicking away the moisture that had gathered there. He wouldn't cry, not now, not ever if he could help it. Crying was a symbol of weakness, and he couldn't afford to be weak. He had too many people to protect to be weak.

It was his duty to protect, the oath he had sworn, and with the power buzzing at his fingertips, seeming all the stronger for the passion surging through his veins, he would do just that.

He _would_ protect.


	2. Chapter 2

There was blood coating his hands, dribbling between his fingers even as he fought to keep it contained within Alstair's body. The young man was jerking beneath him, eyes squeezed shut in pain, each breath eliciting a moan of agony. The wounds are horrific, the great claws of a behemoth had slid through his skin like a knife through butter.

Nyx had been helpless, watching from the sidelines like a spectator. Only once Alstair had hit the ground could he do something, warping to the young glaive's side in the matter of a few seconds, raising a shield to block the next strike, the killing strike, from the behemoth. Anger had flooded his veins, giving him power that consumed him, threw him into a state he could not control.

Only once the behemoth lay dead did he come back to himself, black blood dripping from his kukri, sprayed across his coat and face. He stood, confused and disoriented, before the harsh, gasping breaths of his comrade drew him back to focus.

Kneeling by his side, he felt sick dread settle in his stomach, the deep gashes torn across Alstair's body a gastly sight, even to a seasoned warrior. He placed his hands down over the deepest wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding, calling on the magic he knew he should have been able to weild, cursing his inability to use even the most basic of healing spells.

Alstair was crying, he realised, harsh sobs breaking free of the dying boy's lips. He was but a boy, not even into his twenty-first year. It is wrong, so so wrong. It makes hot anger burn in his stomach at the injustice of it all, even as he leans over and gently shushes the boy.

"It's alright," He soothes, running a hand through damp blond locks, "You're alright. You'll be just fine, you hear me?"

Terrified blue eyes are fixed on his face now, tears still running freely down his face. Nyx feels the hot prick of emotions welling in his own throat, but he forces them down, pressing down on the wounds in Alstair's abdomen instead, in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry..." Alstair's voice is broken, rasping and hoarse, and Nyx shakes his head vehemently, his filthy hand still raking through the boy's hair.

"You have nothing to apologise for, nothing at all. You understand? You fought well, so _so_ well. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for." There is hope in Alstair's eyes now, a flicker of light in eyes that had held nothing but fear.

"I..I did?" He manages to ask, his hand wrapping around Nyx's wrist where his hand is still pressing down on the grevious wounds. Nyx forces himself to smile, to give the boy some comfort as pain arches across his young face again.

"You did. You fought as bravely as any man here. I promise you, you're going to be alright." The words are foul on his tongue, the lies that he knows they are. But they are what Alstair needs, a little of the terror leaving his gaze as his face begins to go lax, his eyes flickering a few times.

"I did." His speech is slurring, fading away into quietness, and Nyx is forced to swallow several times to quell the rising grief that threatens to choke him.

"Sleep now, Alstair. You have earned your rest." He chokes, the words little more than whispers. Alstair smiles, the expression faint, but lasting as he suddenly relaxes under Nyx's hands.

He doesn't move for minutes, his one hand still pressing against the deep gashes, stemming a bloodflow that is no longer than, while his other rakes through blond hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries so hard to squash down every little fragment of grief there is to be found.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, kneeling beside Alstair, before a hand is lain on his shoulder. He reacts in a moment, lunging to his feet with a vicious snarl, kukri in hand. He comes inches close to severing Libertus' spine before he recognizes the face of his friend, worn, weary, but alive.

It's all he can do not to collapse against his best friend and sob, taking all his strength to remain on his feet, though he stumbles back a few steps, removing his blade from Libertus' throat and placing it back in its sheath. Libertus says nothing, merely looks at him with a look that says all words ever could.

Nyx moves back to Alstair's side. The battle is over, both his own, and the Glaive's, and he gently scoops the boy's limp frame into his arms, turning back towards Libertus and walking away from the corpse of the behemoth.

Alstair is light in his arms, merely a child, and that fact stings all the harder, many rapid blinks the only thing to keep the warm, hot tears that pool in his eyes away.

It feels like Galahd all over again, only this time, the child in his arms is a brother.


	3. Chapter 3

Nyx knows something is wrong the moment he wakes up. His head feels fuzzy, his thoughts slow, and it takes a concentrate effort just to sit up in bed.

The window over his bed casts brilliant sunlight into his dingy apartment, the powerful rays shining directly into his eyes and making him wince, a thunderous pounding announcing itself behind his eyes. Disentangling himself from the sheets, he manages to stumble over to his desk, opening his phone and staring dumbly at the numbers dancing across the screen in a most disconcerting manner he knows they should not adopt.

It's two hours past time for him to be at work, and he can only just hold in the groan that threatens to escape him when he thinks about facing Drautos with the headache building in his temples.

* * *

Drautos is, as predicted, less than pleased by his tardiness, making a show of ranting him down in front of the other glaives. Nyx stops listening after the first few words, focusing instead on regulating his breathing, counting random beats as he tries desperately to keep his stomach from flipping completely over and forcing him to empty his stomach contents on the captain's shoes.

As punishment for both being late, and hardly paying attention to Drautos' lecture, Nyx is assigned to the East Gate; again. Standing in the hot sun is murder on his head, and by the second hour he is squinting into the oncoming traffic like a near-sighted chocobo. His legs are starting to feel a little shaky, and his stomach is less than happy, but he carries on like he always has, and manages to comfortably ignore everything the city guard posted on the Gate with him says and does.

By the time he gets back to the barracks to store his weapons and earpiece, his knees feel like jelly, and he has to sit down on one of the long benches for a few minutes after he nearly falls head-first into Luche's locker. In a cruel twist of fate, said man is the one to find him sitting on the benches, head hung between his knees, hands hanging limply by his feet.

Peering up at the glaive like he's as bright as the sun, Nyx manages a soft, croaking "I'm fine." in response to Lazarus' query after his well-being.

Luche, it appears, is less than believing, as the next thing he knows a hand has clamped around his arm and he is being rapidly led through the halls. Luche is a man set on a target, but the pace he sets is far too fast for Nyx's shaky legs, and his stomach is tying itself in knots in an excruciating manner. Nyx forces himself to clamp his lips shut, one hand moving to cover his mouth just in case, because he will _not_ be sick in front of Luche.

All he wants is to go home, lay down, and sleep for the rest of the week, but apparently Lazarus had other ideas, as the next thing he knows he is being passed off to a very worried looking Libertus and Crowe. He has just enough time to notice the concerned looks both his friends are sending him before he turns his head the wrong way, getting a brilliant flash of white light directly in the eyes, and his vision spirals away from him. The ground suddenly smacks against his already aching skull, and he is only too happy to surrender to the darkness clawing at the edges of his mind.

* * *

When he wakes up he is entirely disoriented. His head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it with abandon, throbbing fiercely with every beat of his heart. The roof above his head is not his own, and it takes him a few moments to recognize the voices drifting to him through the open door of the bedroom he is laying in.

Libertus and Crowe are speaking in the other room, a feeling of peace washing over him as he realizes he is safe. He lets his eyes fall closed then, relishing in the feeling of a cold cloth upon his forehead. He must have dozed off for a few seconds, for the next moment, small fingers are raking through his hair, soothing away the pain in his head.

"Rest, child. It will be better soon."

He knows that voice, remembers it like he heard it only yesterday, and when he opens his eyes, she is there. His mother has never looked so beautiful, the light shining through the bedroom window silhouetting her head like a halo. She is smiling gently, her hand moving to cup his cheek as he stares at her, confusion in his eyes.

"M-mom?" The word slips from his teeth before he can stop it, sounding rough and worn. She smiles warmly at him, placing a cool hand upon his brow, smoothing away the hair that has fallen over his eyes.

"I'm here, darling. I'm right here. You'll be alright, you just need rest."

There is an uncomfortable lump rising in his throat, his hand reaching to touch her, to make sure she is real. Before he can touch her hand, the door creaks loudly, Libertus' bulky frame sidling into the room and letting out a delighted sound when he sees Nyx is awake.

"Nyx! How are you feeling buddy? You gave us all quite a scare when you just went down like that." He distantly registers the words, eyes still fixed on the spot his mother had been sitting in.

He swears there is a depression on the bed where her weight rested, the soft touch of her hand on his skin still lingering on his cheek. With a great effort, he pulls his gaze over to rest on Libertus, a frown marching across his brow as he tries to focus on the words his friend is speaking.

That uncomfortable lump is still stuck in his throat, but a few quick blinks manage to wash away the warm, stinging feeling he had recognized growing at the back of his eyes. Libertus is still speaking, moving to the bedstand at his side and dipping a cloth in the bowl resting there.

"- so I'm glad to see you're awake." He finishes, looking over at Nyx and frowning slightly when he sees the lack of attention Nyx is exhibiting, "Nyx? You with me buddy?"

Tearing his gaze away from the spot on the wall, Nyx forces himself to blink, focusing on the here and now and not the tricks his mind had decided to play on him, taking advantage of his illness.

"Yea. Yea I'm here." He croaks, turning over slightly so he is facing Libertus. He won't look back, he _won't._ His mother is gone, and he knows that.

But knowing something was true never made it hurt any less.


	4. Chapter 4

Nyx has never liked making a big deal out of his birthday. Even as a kid, he never saw the point in big parties or gatherings to celebrate the day of his birth. For him, just spending time with his family and his closest friends was perfect.

Now living in Insomnia, in a one room apartment underneath the city no less, his inclination to have a heap of people come over was even smaller, and so it was that the day passed without a single soul ever knowing the day was the anniversary of the day their "hero" came into the world.

He caught Libertus and Crowe bent over some piece of paper in the middle of the day, his attempt to see what it was being thoroughly thwarted when Crowe promptly spun around and sat on whatever it was that had so captivated their attention. Neither of his friends had any intentions of sharing what they were up to, and Nyx could only hope it was nothing to do with him.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, and it was with a strong feeling of relief that he sank down into his chair in front of the TV at the end of the day, just glad that the day would soon be over.

His peace was not to last, however, as only moments after he settled himself in with a hot coffee and a show he wasn't even really watching, a loud knock rapped at his apartment door. Raising an eyebrow in honest curiosity, he stood and moved over to open the door.

Two grinning faces waited for him on the other side, and it was all he could do not to groan at the bags held in both of their hands, his headache only growing at the overly jubulant "Happy Birthday!" They both chimed.

Stepping out of the way with a resigned sigh, Nyx could only watch as the Crowe and Libertus filed into his one room apartment, wincing at how crowded their presence made the room in a matter of seconds.

Shifting uncomfortably as the duo placed their bags on his one desk, he watched Libertus with wary eyes as the bigger man moved over to stand directly in front of him.

"No. No no non-" His pleas fell on deaf ears as Libertus' arms encircled him and squeezed, the breath rushing out of his lungs as his ribcage was crushed against the bigger man's frame.

"Happy birthday, bud."

Letting out a strangled gasp, he moved one hand to pat Libertus' back, nodding desperately as he fought for air, "Yea," he squeaked, "Thanks."

His acceptance of the Libertus' congratulations seemed to do the trick, as the big man released him from the iron grip and letting him catch his breath. Crowe was laughing softly at their interaction, moving around the armchair Nyx had previously been sitting on and clapping him on the shoulder, warmth in honey eyes but no words.

He was grateful for that, there were only so many congratulations one man could take on a day he hardly felt like celebrating. Shaking his head at the two who had made themselves more than at home in his apartment, Nyx nodded towards the bags on his table.

"What's in the bags?"

An almost child-like expression flashed into being on Libertus' face, the feeling of dread Nyx had felt when they arrived coming back for round two as the big man moved over and pulled a small, neatly wrapped parcel from the bag. The box was covered in bright, stripy paper that reflected the rays from Nyx's one lightbulb straight into his eyes, making him wince as he took the proffered box with something akin to caution.

Libertus was smiling at him fully, his face just begging Nyx to open the parcel. "I couldn't decide on what to get you, so I helped Crowe with hers instead." The big man elaborated, prompting Nyx to raise an eyebrow at the other, larger bag.

Seeing his look, Crowe chuckled and pulled down the corner of the bag to show him the pizza boxes stacked inside. "Dinner."

The small laugh that escaped his lips was pure, and he relished in the feeling of openness these two allowed him to feel, even if it was only for a moment before his attention returned to the small box in his hands.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed and began carefully peeling the wrapping off, letting it drop onto the coffee table to be thrown out later. The box underneath was plain cardoard, and it was with something akin to trepidation that he flipped back to the lip and peered into the parcel.

It was a small pin, made of a silver material and a little rough around the edges, most likely second-hand. It was not the quality nor the size of the item that caught his attention, though, it was the the detail on it.

It had been nearly two years since he had seen the Galahdan crest, the intricate details etched into the silver material a sight for sore eyes. Lifting the pin from the box, he let it drop onto the coffee table as he ran his fingers over the tiny little lines that made up the crest.

His eyes were misting over, he realised, and it took a few rapid blinks to clear his vision before he could lift his gaze to meet the two sets of eyes watching him with open nervousness.

"I...thank you, guys. I.." He trailed off with a shake of his head, the lump rising in his throat removing to be dislodged as he choked slightly on his breath, eyes filling with hot tears no amount of blinking would erase.

The next thing he knew, warm arms were encirling him, and he head was resting easily in the crook of Crowe's neck. A warm body pressed against him from the back as Libertus hugged him from the other side, sandwiching him between his two friends, the pin still cradled to his chest.

He found that he didn't mind at all.

Letting out a choked sound, he felt embarresment flush his cheeks, even as Crowe lay a hand on the back of his head, her cheeks moving into a smile on top of his hair. "You can cry, Nyx. You don't need to think we haven't noticed how stoic you've been for the last, forever. You can't just bottle it all up forever."

It was as though her words hit a chord inside him, breaking the careful balance he had created and flooding the dam between his emotions and reality. With a hoarse, wet sob, he let the tears fall, his head tucked against the crook of Crowe's neck and his body pressed between hers and Libertus'.

It was freeing, letting the pent-up grief, regret and sorrow fall away as he cried onto his friend's shoulder, unashamed and trusting. There was no judgement in her eyes when he eventually pulled back, only soft understanding and concern.

Twenty minutes later they were all settled around his TV, Libertus taking up the armchair, Crowe lounging on his bed, and Nyx seated upon the only other chair in the apartment. The three boxes of pizza between them, they sat in comfortable silence, watching a show none of them were really interested in, but found entertaining to make fun of anyway.

It was warm, comfortable, and entirely made up of home.

Comfortable in the presence of his friends, feeling lighter and happier than he had in months, heck maybe even years, Nyx knew that he _was_ strong. He was strong in the presence of his friends, and he was strong enough to trust, and care for them.

He had thoughts tear were for the weak, but now, he realised that so was not the case. Anybody could cry and it would not define their strength, it was the people you cried _for_ that defined you.


End file.
